Page 82 of Justice for Francesca

Rory’s voice husked in her ear. “Don’t say anything, Frankie. Climb on my back. It’s going to be a fast plummet to the alley.”

Francesca screamed behind his hand, then bit at his glove. She couldn’t tear through the leather with her teeth, but she could grip. Like a Rottweiler, she shook her head left and right as fast as she could to where she caused him to lose his hold. In his surprise, she stomped down on his instep, then curled her leg around his. While she didn’t flip him—his sheer mass prevented that—she did manage to get him off balance, so he stumbled and had to let go of her.

“What the feck, Frankie?! For once in your life, just do what I tell you to do. You’re in a shitload of trouble right now.”

A voice from the patio door behind her agreed. “Yes, Rory, she is.”

Francesca whirled around to see her father standing in the blowing curtains, a gun aimed at her forehead.

“Tch. Tch. Tch.” He shook his head. “Typical stubborn Irish. Just like when she was a child, she never does what you tell her to do.” He smirked. “You’re looking lovely, girl. You’ve gotten better with your approach, but I think your time as a captive has caused you to rush and become sloppy. Or is that why you were caught in the first place?”

“What do you want?” Francesca ground out.

“It’s time for you to come home, girl.”

“Not fucking likely.”

“Well, you see, I can’t have you out here, wandering around, with all of the McCabe secrets in your head.”

“I don’t have any McCabe secrets. I left the police force so I wouldn’t be tainted by your bad decisions, and when that didn’t work, I crossed the fucking country to get away from all of you. There were a million times I could have given the FBI information on you, but I haven’t. Why would I start now?”

Rory came up behind her, his hands grabbing her biceps. In her ear, he whispered, “Don’t antagonize him.”

“To hell with you, Rory!” she hissed. “You’re just as bad.”

“Well, now that hurts little sister. I would have thought you’d know me better than that.”

“My apologies,” she snarked. “You’re worse. You follow this piece of shit.”

“I follow no one, Frankie,” he murmured. “Neither do your other brothers. For once, I’m begging you, trust us and do what we say. This will end so much faster and cleaner.”

From the shadows, another figure emerged. Mannix. His face was a blank mask as he approached, and he took Francesca’s gun from her hand. “Hello, little sister.”

She said nothing and only glared at the middle triplet.

“Where’s Fionn?” their father barked.

“Ran into some trouble in the alley. Said he’d meet us.”

“Cruz…” She hadn’t meant to let the name fly from her mouth.

Her father’s stare never let up. “And the other one?”

Her eyes flew to Mannix, who raised a hand to his jaw, rolling it until it clicked. A bruise was already forming. His black gaze bore into Francesca’s. “He won’t be interfering.”

Tripoli. They were talking about Tripoli. Her heart felt like it was being ripped out of her chest. He couldn’t be gone. “You bastards! I wasn’t bothering you! Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? Leave me out of it!”

Sweet Jesus… if Cruz and Tripoli were both dead, no one would know where to find Mickie. What did she do? Did she tell them where she was? Did she beg for them to let someone know? They wouldn’t be able to free her without power to the building, and even then, who else knew the combination to the safe room? She hoped that when it was discovered that Mickie was missing, someone would remember that she’d been at dinner with them and go looking for her. Maybe Cosmos or Triumph would think to look in the panic room.

“Time to leave, little girl. And just so it’s a smooth exit… Rory?”

Francesca felt a prick in her neck. “Relax, little sister. Just a little ketamine,” Rory whispered. “I’ve got you.”

24

THE MISSION

Tripoli

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